In the End, a Beginning
by rynogeny
Summary: What I thought/hoped we were going to see in the S5 finale and continuing into S6. There are NO SPOILERS for S6, unless knowing that this is not what's going to happen counts as a spoiler.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Although I'd done fanfics for the S3 and S4 finales, I wasn't sure I was going to do one for S5. I was one of those fans who was very disappointed in the finale, because I'd foolishly put too much emphasis on the title. I was expecting something very different than what we got at the end of that ep, and it's taken me most of the summer to come to terms with it. My feelings are rather guarded about the new season - I'm curious about what they're going to do, but am not letting myself get over-invested in it. My fault, completely. It's Hart's show and his characters and he can absolutely do what he feels his right. (But I'll never again pay any attention at all to an episode title. I sort of wish he'd just number them all. LOL.)_

_Anyway, a few weeks ago, I got the idea of writing up some version of what I would have liked to see, even what I expected to see going into the finale, and this is the result. It's sappier (sap alert!) than I think they would have given us even if they'd gone this direction, but well, that's just a fan's creative license. ;)_

_It's two chapters, and the first borrows very heavily from the actual finale. The second chapter will be up tonight as well, because things are kind of hectic for me at the moment._

_There are NO S6 spoilers in this, unless knowing that this isn't even close to how it plays out is a spoiler._

_

* * *

_

_Early May, 2010_

Temperance Brennan settled on the bench with her coffee, though, in truth, she wasn't certain she could drink it. She felt slightly nauseous. Hopefully, it wasn't indicative of a looming intestinal virus.

Booth was nowhere in sight, and a glance at her watch told her he was officially late. He was nearly always on time, if not early. Something must have happened to delay him, that was all. He'd said he'd meet her at the bench midway between their offices, as they frequently did, so he would be here.

But he'd not really wanted to do so. A few years ago, she might not have realized that. But she did, now. She didn't know _why_ he was avoiding her, but she recognized his behavior for what it was. Even when she'd said it was important, that she needed to talk to him, he'd been reluctant. She wouldn't make a final decision before talking with him, but she'd put off giving the organizers of the expedition her answer as long as she could.

She took a sip of her coffee, regretted it when her stomach roiled. She'd thought they were doing better, that the awkwardness between them – apparent even to her – after she'd turned down his romantic overtures had faded. He'd even gone out socially with Dr. Bryar. So why the reluctance to talk to her now?

And then she saw him coming toward her. He was walking quickly, but his head was down, his scapula seeming more curved downward than normal. She watched as he stopped at the coffee cart to get his mug filled before coming over and settling on the bench next to her.

He glanced at her as he did so, but without meeting her eyes. "So, Bones…here we are. What's all the mystery about?"

So often, these shared breaks were times of camaraderie and connection. Aware that wasn't the case today, she was uncertain about how to proceed, and finally settled on the simple truth. "I've been offered the chance to head up the Maluku Island project."

He nodded. "Yeah, I heard." He still wasn't looking at her, and her stomach roiled again. "Daisy told Sweets, Sweets told me."

"Oh." Even more uncertain, she looked away herself for a moment. What was wrong with him? Why wouldn't he meet her eyes? Turning back, she said, "I'd like to accept."

"I thought you already had."

Shock kept her silent for a moment. How could he have thought that? And then a new thought crept in – was he feeling hurt? Was that why he wouldn't look at her? But why had he doubted her? "We've been partners for five years. I wouldn't make a decision like this without talking to you."

She saw him smile while she was speaking, but there was something wrong with it. It didn't look like him, somehow. Maybe because the smile was directed anywhere but at her. "Bones, look, you don't need my permission, okay? It's cool."

This was all wrong, and she didn't understand why. And in not understanding why, she didn't know how to correct it. "You say that, but you won't look at me. You're the one who taught me the value of making eye contact. So…please?"

A long moment passed, and she saw him swallow and glance down before finally turning towards her. "I'm sorry. I don't do really good with change, I guess."

Relief made her weak, until she processed the meaning of his words. Had there ever been evidence of him not handling change well before this? Not that she could remember. She was the one it was always difficult for. "Better than I am."

"Pyramids are better at change than you are."

Not expecting an insult in the middle of the conversation, she simply stared at him, tried to understand it.

He smiled a little. 'It was a joke, okay? I was being affectionate."

Glad that he seemed to be acting more himself, she changed the subject, asked what she'd been wondering. "Will you go back to the army?"

He nodded. "It's what's best for me right now."

Brennan hesitated, confused. He'd initially said no to the army's request, so how could it be the best thing for him now? Then it struck her: the only thing that had changed was her being offered the chance to lead the expedition. The data indicated he was going to a war zone because of her. Should she do something about that? Say something? But what was there to say? Then another thought struck her, just as her stomach shifted again. How long was leaving for? Would he be coming back? Unable to ask, she said, "I'll only be gone for a year."

"Me, too! So what's a year, after all?"

Relief made her weak and she took refuge in facts. "It's the time it takes the earth to make a full revolution around the sun."

He gave her one of his looks. "In the scheme of things…you know, the grand scheme of things? I'm just saying a year, it's not too bad."

"Oh. Right."

"Right." He smiled.

"We can come back, pick up where we left off. Nothing really has to change." She hadn't realized how much she'd counted on him being in DC, on knowing the life she had would be waiting for her when she returned, until right now.

But he shook his head. "No, things have to change. You know what I taught you about eye contact? You taught me about evolution."

The comment struck her as so out of character for him, she was lost, unsure of a response. A memory came to her, of ice skating with him the year before. He'd told her then that nothing would ever change between them, that he'd always be there for her. There was no pleasure for her in knowing that her words to him, that entropy pulled everything apart, had proven true. But was it entropy that was pulling them apart? Or was it her rejection of him that night in front of the Hoover building? She'd tried to prevent his hurt at her hands, and failed – and didn't that only confirm she'd been right to do so?

Her stomach had settled some, but now, instead of experiencing nausea, there was a hollowness inside, one she knew wasn't hunger.

"Bones?"

She looked over at him. He hesitated, then said, "About change…" he said slowly, "there's something I should have said to you that night in front of the Hoover, and didn't, mostly because I didn't think it mattered, and I didn't want to push."

Her stomach started churning once more. She did not want to talk about this again.

His lips twisted into a half-grimace, half-smile, and he said, "I know, you don't want to talk about it. You don't have to. It's just important to me that you hear and believe what I say." He glanced down at his cup, frowned. "Change is inevitable, Bones. And I guess that includes us, that we change, too. Sometimes, anyway." He looked back up, full in her eyes now. "That night, though, you said you couldn't be with me because you can't change, can't be other than the scientist you are. And what I should have said and didn't, is that you shouldn't have to. A guy doesn't love who you are, he's not worth having."

He looked away for a moment, then back at her. "I didn't want you to change, didn't need you to. I only wanted you, as you are. I get that I'm not 'that guy' for you, but someday you'll meet him. Don't feel like you need to change for him. If you do, he's not your guy either."

Now, in addition to the hollowness in her stomach, her chest felt heavy. Tight. A heart couldn't literally break, but as she'd said before, it could be crushed. "Booth, I—"

He waved his hand, shook his head, and stood. "Don't, Bones. Nothing to say. I just needed you to know that." He gave her another lopsided smile. "We'll both come back in a year, and some things will change, but other things won't. We'll both be here."

She stood, too, desperately wanting to ask if that was a promise, because he'd never broken a promise to her. But she couldn't quite bring herself to do so. And then the moment passed, and he lifted his coffee mug. "Here's to change."

She reached out, touched her mug to his.

* * *

_May 20, 2010_

_Dulles International Airport_

Brennan didn't bother glancing at her watch. She'd said good-bye to Cam, Hodgins and Angela, and Daisy was waiting, her impatience growing. They needed to go, immediately, or they risked missing their flight.

It didn't matter. Booth had said he'd come say farewell, and, however irrational it was, she wasn't leaving until she did so. They'd had virtually no time to talk after their meeting at the bench, and she had to see him. If she and Daisy missed the flight, they'd board the next one.

Ignoring Daisy, she looked back down the long terminal, and finally saw him, where he'd paused, looking for her, a tall man in army fatigues she could have mistaken for someone else if not for his stride when he started toward her. Muscles she hadn't known were tense loosened, and she went to meet him.

They met mid-way, let people flow on around them. "Sorry. I couldn't get a pass," he said. "I had to sneak off the base to come say goodbye." Before she could respond, he continued, urgency in his tone and stance. "Listen, Bones – you gotta be really careful in that Indonesian jungle, okay?"

The ridiculousness of it struck her. "Booth, in a week, you're going to a war zone. Please don't be a hero. Please, just…don't be you."

He gave a barely perceptible nod, and then they simply stood there, staring at one another. No problem with eye contact, now. He started to speak and she cut him off. There was so little time. "What you said at the bench that day, about change?" The right words weren't going to come, and wasn't that another indication that he'd be better off without her? "That night in front of the Hoover…" She stopped, tried one last time. "I've already changed, but I'm not sure into what. I don't see how I can ever be what you need for me to be, but if I'm not a scientist, I'm nothing." It wasn't strictly true. She would still exist, but such existence would be irrelevant.

She was still struggling for words to further explain when he reached down, gripped her hand.

"And that's what this year is about."

She nodded, somehow unsurprised that he'd understood that. Something had changed in his face while she'd been speaking. His mandible was more relaxed than it had been in weeks, and his eyes were different, too. Somber, serious, but not as sad as they'd been. He continued, still gripping her hand. "You don't need to change for me, Bones. And you're already the best scientist I know. You took down Taffet, despite all the people in your life. You don't need to be like her to be an amazing scientist."

She gave a slow nod, took a breath, and returned his grip with one of her own. It was time to go – she and Daisy had to catch their plane, he had to return to base. But it was so much harder than she had expected it to be.

He spoke again. "One year from today, we meet at the Reflecting Pool on the Mall, right by the—"

"—coffee cart. I know. One year from today." It was possible to smile a little, after all, she discovered. It was a promise, and he always kept his promises.

For another long moment, they stood there, and then he glanced down at their hands and back up before releasing her and stepping back. And then he turned, walked away. The smile gone, the weight crushing her chest again, Brennan turned as well, started back toward Daisy and the others. And then, unable to stop herself, she glanced back, saw he'd stopped, was looking back as well.


	2. Chapter 2

_May 20, 2011_

_Washington, DC_

Brennan was early for their meeting at the bench, but Booth was earlier still. She slowed, studied him. Dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, his posture was relaxed with his left arm stretched out across the back of the bench and his right hand holding his cup. She wasn't close enough yet to see clearly his eyes, but something about him spoke of weariness.

Of course he was tired. He was no doubt experiencing jetlag, as well as whatever the effects were of coming home from a war zone.

But he was home.

A wave of dizziness she attributed to her own jetlag rolled over her and she stopped, leaned against a tree for a moment where he couldn't see her. If she'd had been having nightmares about him dying before they both left, what had made her think that her being in the Maluku Islands while he was in a war zone – because of her – would stop the dreams from happening?

She'd told no one about the nightmares, of course. There had been no one to tell. She'd also believed they would stop after she grew acclimated to the dig, to not seeing him every day. It was natural, after all, for her to miss someone she was used to spending so much time with.

It had taken three months before it occurred to her that while she thought often of her family, Cam, Angela, Hodgins, and yes, even Sweets, that Booth was the only one she regularly found herself wanting to share things with. And she'd dreamed of none of the others.

At the sixth month mark, she'd realized that while many of the dreams were still nightmares about his death, not all of them were. And at seven months, she'd admitted that some of the latter ones brought her comfort. That it was harder to crawl out of her tent on the mornings after those dreams.

Sometime in the ninth month, without even realizing it, she started counting down the days until the dig would be over. Until she'd see him again.

And that was when she'd understood she loved him. Was in love with him.

She rested her head against the tree for another moment, acknowledged the possibility that it wasn't jetlag that had caused the lightheadness.

Then she straightened, stepped back out on to the sidewalk and briskly walked toward him.

He saw her, and stood, and her pace slowed. Not because she didn't want to see him, but because …she didn't know why. But when he started toward her, she sped up again, until they were just a meter or so apart, and then they both simply stopped. He did look tired, and older than it seemed a year should make him. He was staring intently back at her, though, and whatever he saw brought a slight smile to his face.

Uncertain, and remembering that he'd seemed hesitant to hug her when they'd parted the year before, she started to lift a hand toward him. He ignored it, closed the distance between them and enfolded her in a tight, hard hug.

Wondering why she was trembling, Brennan pressed her face into his shoulder and simply hung on. He might have looked older, but he felt the same. Hard muscles, clean scent. Booth.

"Bones," he said quietly, and nothing else. She felt movement that could only be him pressing a kiss against her hair.

Finally, leaving her arms around his waist, she pulled away enough to see his face.

His eyes were moist. She saw that in a brief moment before he blinked and looked away, then stepped back. Before dismay could surface, though, he took her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. The continued contact felt good. Necessary.

He turned, and tugging her with him, started back to the bench, and for the first time she realized just how busy the Mall was. Most people were simple diverting around them, but a few had slowed and apparently been watching their reunion, with smiles on their faces. Ignoring them, she turned her attention back to the man who'd finally let go of her hand so he could bend down and retrieve the cup he'd dropped when he'd started toward her.

They settled on the bench and simply sat looking at one another in silence for a long moment. It wasn't an awkward silence, Brennan realized.

"How are you?" he finally asked.

"I'm experiencing the expected effects of travel across multiple time zones, but apart from that, I'm well. How are you?" The glint she recognized as humor came into his eyes, though she didn't know what she'd said that was funny.

The glint faded, and he glanced away for a moment, then back. "The same, I guess. Glad to be home – how about you?"

She didn't understand the question. Hadn't she just told him how she was?

Recognizing her confusion, the slight smile came back, then again faded. "Are you glad to be back, Bones?"

"Yes, of course." How could he doubt that?

"When you left, you were pretty burned out on being here, working murders. Cam and I thought you might want to concentrate more on the original reason the Jeffersonian hired you, do less consulting work for the FBI."

The question shocked her. Do less work with him, when resuming their partnership had been a priority for her for months? She shook her head, but then hesitated, uncertain how to answer his question. "I did need a break, and the dig was challenging and rewarding," she said slowly. "But after a while, I realized that I was missing doing something that mattered."

"The dig mattered."

Grateful he could say so, she nodded. "It did. But not on the level of what we do, catching murderers and making certain they can't harm anyone else. I missed that." And him. She'd missed the man she did those things with, desperately. But didn't know how to say so.

"I'm glad," he said simply. "But if you ever need another break from our cases, say so, okay?"

Brennan nodded, and they fell silent again. Then he asked, "What about the other thing?" At her look of confusion, he continued carefully, "Did the dig reassure you that you're still a scientist?"

She thought back to what he'd said at the airport the day they parted, and nodded. It was odd, really, how little she'd thought of that question after that day. "I've led other digs before, though never so large or important," she said slowly. "But this one seemed to go more smoothly, and I was finally able to determine why." She looked at him, met his eyes. "When talking with the others, when organizing them, I kept thinking of you, of how you would have done it. And of how Cam runs the lab. So often I'd not seen the point, but I found myself doing something similar and it all just seemed to go more smoothly." She frowned, still not completely sure why it all worked.

"And that convinced you that you can be a scientist and have people in your life?"

"I don't entirely understand it, but it appears that that is correct."

"What's the point of science if people don't matter? If they don't, then changing the way we view ourselves doesn't matter, either, and nothing you discovered in Mukuku is important. That's the difference between you and Taffet, Bones. You just spent a year doing something important on the dig, and before that, you solved murders, while she's rotting in a jail cell."

"It's possible to be a dispassionate scientist without being a murderer, Booth."

"Yeah, but how likely are you to do important science, stuff that matters, if you don't care about people? And you are dispassionate when you have to be – isn't that what you do when you – what was Sweets' term? Compartmentalize?"

How could he, a non-scientist if there ever was one, understand her so well? She slowly nodded. "Maybe."

"No 'maybe' about it. I worked with you for five years. I'm not a scientist, and you're not like me, Bones, but your heart is open enough."

And there it was. The other thing they needed to talk about. Her stomach churned and she looked down, wished for a cup of coffee. Even if she'd not tasted it, it would have given her something to hold, something to do with her hands.

"I see," he said quietly.

Confused, she looked up. He was looking at her, but his expression was once more the distant one he'd worn at times after their conversation that night in front of the Hoover building. It was a look she associated with sadness, and didn't understand why. Then his words from the year before came back to her, and his belief that her rejection had meant he wasn't 'that guy' for her. She'd given him hope, as she'd intended to do, in their farewell at the airport, hoping that she'd find the courage to tell him how she felt about him after a year to process it. And now, her cowardice was once again hurting him, once again communicating the wrong thing.

"Booth, I don't know how to do relationships. You know that," she blurted. "If we try, I'll just wind up hurting you even more than I already have. That's what I meant about protecting you from me."

He blinked at her, as if for once he was the one not understanding the words and despair swamped her. What if she were wrong about what he was thinking and feeling? He'd not yet said much about his experiences while they were separated. What if she told him she loved him, in a way she had never told anyone else, and he'd changed his mind while they were apart? Was this how he'd felt that night when she'd hurt him so badly?

The world had tilted for a moment for Booth, his mind locked on that one little word: if. _If we try. _ They were in a park, surrounded by open air, and he suddenly couldn't breathe, afraid to hope that she was saying what it sounded like she was saying.

Desperately hurt, he'd told her that night in front of the Hoover building that he had to move on, had to find someone who'd love him. He'd known before they parted that day at the airport that it was useless, that there would never be anyone else for him but Temperance Brennan. And then her comment about being unable to see how she could be what he needed for her to be had given him the barest glimmer of hope, hope that had been his only companion during a year of long nights in Afghanistan.

And now, _if. _

Sometimes, missions required you to sneak up on your enemy an inch at time, crawling so slowly through sand and fleas and God knew what that it hardly seemed you were moving at all. More than once, he'd spent hours covering just a few feet of ground, giving all new meaning to the concept of patience. That's what this felt like, really. With that one word, if, they'd moved another quarter inch toward the goal.

But it was progress, and he was nothing if not a patient man.

Her expression faltered, and she looked away, and he understood that while he'd been sitting there in amazed shock, she'd thought …something else. He didn't know what, as it didn't seem possible for her to wonder if he'd changed his mind. Wasn't 'I love Bones' stamped permanently across his forehead?

Maybe not.

He reached over, took her hand, threaded their fingers together again. She looked at him, her expression the vulnerable one so few others saw.

"What I said that night about moving on…" he looked away for a moment, then back. And understood that this, much more so than that night a year earlier, was the moment when he was taking the gamble of a lifetime. "It's never going to happen. It's always going to be you." He took a breath. "Bones, do you love me?"

Hope failed when she glanced away, but then she swallowed and turned back to him. "Yes," she said, her voice firm. "But Booth…" she seemed to be floundering. "How do I know if what I feel is the same thing you feel? How do I know if it will be enough for thirty years, let alone forty or fifty?"

He thought about it, tried to find the words. "Maybe you don't. Maybe in thirty years, I won't feel exactly what I'm feeling right now. But I'm always going to love you. It's a promise as much as anything, Bones."

"You always keep your promises," she murmured.

"So do you. You don't make many, but you keep the ones you make."

"I'm bad at relationships. I don't know how to be what you need."

Still creeping across that desert ground, slowly, but the goal was in sight. He could feel it. "What is it you think I need from you?" She frowned, and he continued, "I need you. Just you. Your honesty, your compassion, your brilliance, your humor…you. I just need you."

An expression of wonder settled onto her face, and his heart ached a little in response. How had he not told her those things?

"I'll hurt you," she said. "I already have. I don't know how to be in the kind of relationship you're after."

"I'll hurt you, too, sometimes." He squeezed her hand. "You make it sound like there's a rule book to relationships, Bones. There's not. What we have now isn't what others have, and that's okay. I mean, we do okay as partners, don't we?" She nodded, and he continued, "We'll do the same thing in this. We'll work out what's right for us. You just have to give us a chance."

She frowned again, the same expression she wore when she was trying to solve a problem, and, not for the first time, he wondered what it would be like have that attention focused on him while they made love. He looked around, realized that whatever came next in this conversation, he didn't want it to happen on a park bench.

Their hands still entwined, he stood, tugged her up. "Let's walk."

She looked around, apparently coming to the same conclusion he had, and nodded. He tossed his cup in the trash and they started down the sidewalk. Neither spoke, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. She needed time to think things through, and he needed time to ponder the miracle he'd just been given.

He had no clear destination in mind, though the path they were on would take them back to the SUV. But then he saw a small copse of trees and knew he couldn't wait one more minute. He nudged her off the sidewalk into the shadows and saw from the sideways glance she gave him that she fully understood what he was doing. The fact that she quickened her pace increased his anticipation, while the fear that this was a dream – one of thousands – finally loosened its grip.

He leaned back against a tree, deep in the shadows, and pulled her to him, another knot in his gut unraveling when she slid her hands up his chest and around his neck. The problem with the shade was that he could no longer see her eyes, but as he brushed her lips with his, he decided it didn't matter.

Their first kiss had been all heat and fire, the second had been a joke and the third had broken his heart. This one started out tender, his only thought to show her the wonder he was feeling at having her in his arms and knowing she wanted to be there. But moments into it, desperation and need took over for both of them, the kiss deepening to something else entirely. Something that even the deep shade of the trees wasn't adequate cover for.

Still pressed against him, she pulled away from the kiss, made her way down his jaw to his neck, where she focused on the pulse beating rapidly at the base of his throat. She nuzzled him, then whispered, "Booth?"

His mind clouded by the reality that he was holding her, that it was no dream, it took a moment to realize she was speaking to him. "What?"

"Take me somewhere and make love to me. Show me how two people break the laws of physics."

His brain addled, it took a moment to remember the conversation she was referring to, and he had to swallow against emotion storming through him. "It would be my pleasure." But while still holding her, he shifted her back, just a bit, and lowered his forehead to hers. "And we'll go, as soon as I can walk."

She gave a choked laugh, and he pressed a kiss against her forehead. "I love you, so damn much."

She stilled, and turned her face up to him. He couldn't see her face clearly, but a bit of what light there was highlighted the tear on her cheek and he brought his thumb up and brushed it away. "Don't do that. Not now. Don't cry."

"You've not said it, you know. Not since right after your surgery, when you meant it as a partner."

"Said what?"

"That you love me."

Dumbstruck, he stared into the shadows that hid her eyes. Of course he'd said it. He'd said it that night in front of the Hoover. Hell, he'd said it just now, by the bench. Then his thoughts slowed. He had said the words, hadn't he? He thought back to both conversations and nearly groaned. "I botched everything about that night," he muttered. He leaned down, kissed her. "I do love you. So much it's felt like I was wearing a sign. But from now on, I'll tell you every day. Twice a day. Every time I see you. Every time I think of you."

She laughed, and laid her head back on his chest. "That would be excessive, particularly if we don't want people to know about our new relationship."

He stilled. "Why won't we want people to know?"

"So we can continue working together. You do want to continue as partners, don't you?"

She sounded anxious, and again he wished for just a little more light. "Of course. I'm not working with anyone else. But they'll let us work together. The bureau's policy has shifted the last few years – as long as there's no question of harassment, they won't care. Hell, Hacker even asked me if we were dating before he asked you out that first time."

"He did?"

"Yes. And do you really think Sweets would have prompted that conversation that night if he knew we couldn't work together?"

She cocked her head to one side. "No, I suppose not. It's good, though, that that will not be an issue. I have no desire to work with a different partner." Before he could respond, she said, "So can you walk yet?"

He gave a strangled laugh and kissed her lightly. "Let's find out."

In answer, she took his hand and pulled him toward the sunlight.


End file.
